


Kreacher's Dinner Party

by spiffykt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Friendship, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffykt/pseuds/spiffykt
Summary: Missing dinners in the Great Hall, Harry invites some friends to Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher makes it weird.





	Kreacher's Dinner Party

The problem, Harry decided later, had been with his use of the phrase “dinner party.” He had been sitting alone in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, eating a bag of crisps for dinner and missing proper meals with friends in the Great Hall, when it occurred to him that he was a goddamn adult and could have his friends come to him for dinner if he so pleased.

“Kreacher!” he called, and the house elf trundled down the stairs and into the kitchen. “I’m going to have some friends over for a dinner party, Friday after next. Could you help with the food?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened. “A dinner party? Master is having a dinner party?”

Harry kicked himself. He had survived enough of Aunt Petunia’s dinner parties to know such events were cursed. “Just something simple, pasta or -” he started, but Kreacher was already far gone.

“It’s long past time the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was returned to its proper glory, yes, but so much to do, and barely any time to plan, the Master knows nothing of social graces, and who to invite? So many of the respectable families are in Azkaban since the war, but…”

“I’ll handle the guest list,” Harry said quickly. “Just, something simple, please.” 

His plea went unanswered. At breakfast the next morning, Kreacher demanded a written guest list, so that he could take it to the calligrapher for invitations. He didn’t stop asking even after Harry sent notes of invitation by owl - after all, there were still the place cards to think of. Kreacher seemed personally offended that Harry had only invited a few DA friends, and not a pureblood among them except for Ron and George. 

Then there was the matter of the dining room. Harry always ate in the kitchen, but Kreacher had screamed - literally, screamed, without ceasing - until Harry agreed that they could eat in the formal dining room. The problem was that the formal dining room was where Harry had been storing furniture and items he meant to get rid of, either because they were potentially Dark or just because they were ugly. Kreacher couldn’t be trusted to go through them alone, so Harry was forced to sacrifice a weekend cleaning out the dining room himself. 

That accomplished, Kreacher raised a fuss about decorations. He managed to dig up some spectacularly hideous candelabra and a musty brocade tablecloth that Harry hadn’t tossed yet, and openly sobbed when Harry refused. 

“I just want dinner with my friends, like back at Hogwarts,” Harry said. He meant it to sound firm and commanding, but realized even as he said it that it sounded petulant. Auror training was exhausting, the grief of the battle just six months earlier was still heavy, and Kreacher was getting on his last nerve.

Finally, the day arrived, and Harry spent it in a fugue of nervousness, irrationally convinced that no one would come. When he got home, Kreacher announced that he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen or dining room, so he was forced to wait in the front parlor, another room he never used, until George and Ron arrived with a soft “pop” outside and a knock at the door. Dean and Seamus followed not far behind with a bottle of Knotgrass Mead. Harry found a set of annoyingly fancy crystal glasses in a cabinet, and they were deep in conversation about the upcoming Quidditch season when Neville knocked on the door. 

Harry wasn’t sure when his ban from the dining room ended - indeed, he realized that he didn’t even have any idea what food was being served, or if he needed to help at all. He had just started to worry about it when the dining room door opened and Kreacher announced, “Dinner is served.”

Harry heard the others exclaiming as they walked inside, and felt a moment of bone-deep embarrassment - Kreacher must have gone overboard after all, and everyone would mock him forever - before stepping into the room himself.

The dining room had been transformed into a miniature Great Hall, with floating candles and a table runner in Gryffindor colors. There was a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table (as well as a few bottles of Butterbeer). Harry could tell just from the smell that the steak and kidney pie was the Hogwarts recipe.

“None of this was my idea,” he felt compelled to say as everyone sat. “Kreacher goes a bit wild for parties, I found out.”

“It’s wicked,” Neville said, with such earnest sincerity that not even George could follow it with teasing. 

Harry was still embarrassed, but the warmth of food and Knotgrass Mead took the edge off quickly. By the time they brushed off the last of the sticky toffee pudding, he was even beginning to think that he should let Kreacher keep the hideous candelabras after all.


End file.
